


Blood for Blood

by snickersnacker



Category: Coriolanus - Shakespeare
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, D/s, Death Threats, Did I mention lots of blood?, Dominance and Submission, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Power Play, Scarification, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snickersnacker/pseuds/snickersnacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When we met in battle, you cursed one of us to die the other's slave and be doomed forever after. Have you forgotten that day?"</p>
<p>This is what happens after Caius Martius comes knocking at Tullus Aufidius' door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood for Blood

The feast was finally over, thank the gods. Tullus Aufidius, smiling genially, bid the last noble good night, and let his face drop back into its customary lines as soon as he turned his back. The evening’s early gossip about Antonia Severa’s sordid marriage had been dramatically interrupted by Tullus’ return from the entryway with a haggard and uninvited guest, no less scandalous when his identity was revealed as the bloody author of Corioli’s destruction. Tullus had rather enjoyed the room’s gasps after making that little announcement, and had especially savored Antonia Severa’s petulance and resentment for the rest of the evening once she realized that no one was going to continue whispering about her.

Now Tullus exhaled, letting the welcome silence of the hall fall around him. The hooded guest had been a shock to Tullus as well, though he was better at hiding it. The rest of the evening had been spent pacifying one senator while reassuring another, and Tullus was done with it. He was a soldier, not a politician. The circumstances of tonight’s arrival should be warning enough about the dangers of politics. Speaking of which, he could no longer avoid the issue, though suddenly part of him wanted to. Caius Martius, now called Coriolanus—a name ripped by force from the hearts and veins of his people, his Volscians, on a day of slaughter that Tullus would never forget—was here now, under his own roof. Tullus didn’t know himself whether he wanted to kill or kiss the man. He squared his shoulders. It was time to find out.

*

Caius Martius stood in the center of the guest room, looking lost. Tullus met his eyes levelly, scouring this face’s lines for the man he remembered from the fires of Corioli, for that creature of blood and death that stalked his dreams. He had been a leopard, all lithe motion and coiled power, his every move calculated with lethal ease. His eyes had gaped like pits to hell, sunk in a face dripping with the scarlet gore of Tullus’ countrymen. Their swords had clashed together, arms trembling at the others’ strength, eyes watering in the smoke, hearts burning with the sharp elation of battle. Tullus had thought, no, _known_ that one of them would die that day…and then they had been parted.

Washed clean now and dressed in soft wool, Caius’ face looked older than he remembered, tired and worn. Grey wings kissed his temples, and crow’s feet crinkled at the corner of his eyes. No wonder Tullus hadn’t recognized this man in the tattered cloak as the demon of hell from his dreams. And yet, something predatory remained, a hint of feline grace in the way Caius turned when he’d opened the door. The leopard was captured, but by no means tamed.

“I hope the servants have shown everything to your satisfaction,” Tullus began, stepping further into the room, wishing he’d been the one able to beg out of dinner with the excuse of travel weariness. He spread his hands. “My home is yours.”

Caius inclined his head graciously. “I have not thanks enough for the welcome I have received. Truly. You have given me clothes and food when by all rights I deserve death.”

That was true enough. Tullus grimaced, striding over to warm his hands by the crackling heat in the fireplace. “You might yet receive it. I have not yet decided your fate.”

The fire snapped in the silence between them. “Why feed me then?” Caius asked. “Why give me a warm bed in the house of your family, when even my own kin and blood have cast me out?”

Tullus half-turned. “When we met in battle, you cursed one of us to die the other’s slave and be doomed forever after. Have you forgotten that day?”

“Never.” Caius’ voice was soft, like brushed velvet, and Tullus thought suddenly of the way his throat must move with each of those lilting Roman words. “Rather, I think of it every time I hear my name.”

“Ah yes. They call you Coriolanus.” Tullus exhaled and turned the rest of way to face the room. “How long did you wander in this world before you found your way to my door, Caius? How long did you stumble through alleys and back fields, starving for scraps and sleeping in ditches, the months of your exile weighing heavier with each passing day, with each vicious kick from each lowly innkeeper?” Tullus advanced with each taunt, one more bitter than the last, while the object of his rage stood, still. “How many curses did it take for the great Caius Martius’ pride to wear down enough that you thought ‘even death must be better than this?’” 

Tullus reached out and grabbed the back of Caius’ head, knotting his fist in that short tawny hair and forcing the leopard to his knees. He didn’t let go once Caius was down, but kept his hold, pulling the man’s head back, staring down at those eyes blinking up through impossibly long lashes. “Or did you come straight here, burning with the shame of your exile, hot for revenge, so eager to betray the city of your birth? Did you waste a day in walking straight to the door of the man who must hate you most in this world, to ask for his help? Are you so full of vengeance?” Tullus gave a vicious yank to the hair wound around his fingers, and enjoyed the wince of pain it produced. “Are you so sure I will not kill you now?”

Caius looked up with eyes watering from the pain, but he made no move to resist. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his bare toes curled beneath him on the floorboards. “I would not have come here if I feared death. I do come on my knees; not only to beg, but to offer. You also dream of revenge, of Rome’s destruction. I would give it all to you. I would give you all you dare to seize.”

“You are so proud you would burn the city that cast you out, but not too proud to kneel before me?” Tullus laughed, and pulled his knife from his belt. “I think you wish to die, but are too proud to kill yourself. That is why you came here.” Gripping a fist of hair, he pressed the blade to Caius’ exposed throat, savoring the sharp inhale as cold steel scraped against tender skin and bristly stubble. “I think you do not care what happens to you now.”

Brusquely, Tullus drew the knife blade upwards, dragging the point along the very center of Caius’ throat. He pulled it slowly up over his Adam’s apple, enjoying the delicious thrill of watching the life under his hand bob in an exaggerated swallow, feeling the rough scrape of steel over stubble, until the knifepoint came to rest in the small hollow just underneath Caius’ chin. There, he paused, daring those eyes to defy him, to give him a reason for one quick motion, one easy thrust to end this charade.

Caius’ breath fluttered shallowly, a result of the angle of his neck and the forced stillness of the blade pressed to his throat. There was a fire still in the depths of his liquid eyes, but it was buried deep. Caius drew a slow, deliberate inhale that sent chills down Tullus’ spine.

“I came to offer you my service,” said Caius, barely above a rough whisper. “If you will not have my sword, then take my life. There is little point left in it, if not for your ends. As please you, I am yours.”

Suddenly gripped with a flash of hot rage at the gall of this man, this incarnation of death and leonine elegance, this killer of so many honest men, to be here on his knees with so little care for himself, Tullus growled and pressed the knifepoint into flesh. Not too deep, but enough to send a fat crimson bead running down the divide of Caius’ throat, dissolving into a spreading stain on his white tunic. Caius closed his eyes as Tullus swiveled the point, turning the bead into a thin hot stream that branched along his neck and sent thick plops to floor.

Abruptly, Tullus released his captive, taking a wide step backwards and breathing heavily through his beard. Caius swayed at the sudden freedom and bent forward, catching himself on the floor with one hand, the other reaching up to touch his bleeding throat. He moved slowly, as if in a fog.

“Don’t you move,” Tullus growled, and Caius froze, kneeling and half-bent forward. Tullus untied the woven cord that encircled his tunic at the waist, wrapping it around one fist to test its strength. Amused, he allowed himself a small dangerous smile as Caius’ eyes flicked upward, watching his movements with feline wariness. Aside from that, however, the man didn’t twitch a muscle.

“Up,” Tullus barked, gesturing sharply with the tip of his knife. As though pulled by marionette strings, Caius rose, gracefully—as all of his movements were, Tullus thought. “Take that off,” he said, twirling the blade vaguely in Caius’ direction.

Unsure, Caius plucked at the hem of his shirt. Tullus nodded approvingly, and Caius stripped the stained garment off in one smooth motion.

“All of it.”

Trousers and undergarments followed with a similar efficiency of motion, until Caius stood quiet and naked, unsure.

Tullus circled, predatory, openly examining the body of the man before him. He was muscular and fit, but slender and athletic, filled with an easy kinesthetic, even now at rest. All this was evident even when clothed; what Tullus noticed this time was the fine network of scars that covered his body. White or pink, new or faded, small and clean or long and jagged, the marks of long-ago battles almost seemed to crawl in the flickering light. The sight itself wasn’t a surprise to Tullus—after all, his own skin was equally scarred—but rather the sudden flash of inspiration it gave him as he completed his circle.

The trickle of blood from Caius’ throat was already slowing, and now just a single trail rolled down his bare chest, getting caught in the sparse maze of light hair. He followed Tullus’ circuit with cautious eyes, breathing more easily now that he was standing.

Stopping in front of him, Tullus gave a final, deliberate once-over and snapped the woven cord between his hands. “Wrists,” he ordered, holding Caius’ gaze with a fierceness that dared defiance, an open challenge that held the unspoken words, _this is your last chance to resist._

Caius looked back at him with those wide, liquid eyes, and said nothing. Another beat passed and just as Tullus was about to repeat himself, Caius mutely raised his hands between them, palms up and fingers loosely curled. He watched with mild curiosity as Tullus bound his wrists in front of him, passively allowing no small amount of roughness as Tullus pulled the knots secure, leaving a long tail of cord. The point of no return had come and gone a long time ago.

When finished, Tullus turned Caius sharply, pushing him from behind and keeping a firm grasp on the leash. He shoved the man onto the bed, rolling him onto his back and straddling his torso, pulling Caius’ bound hands above his head and tying the cord’s tails securely to the headboard.

Tullus paused and looked down, allowing himself a sudden grin, equal parts pleased satisfaction and predatory toothiness. Caius swallowed.

“I’m glad I did not kill you,” Tullus said, voice a rough purr, letting the grin creep up into his eyes. “I like you much better like this.” Bending forward, he kissed his enemy squarely on the mouth, a hot, possessive kiss full of claiming and taking. Caius melted under him, meeting his advances and softly giving ground before them. He tasted warm and solid, those damned arrogant lips of his blessedly silent. Tullus was suddenly aware of the close heat of their bodies pressed together.

He felt the chest beneath him shiver as he pulled back, and Tullus climbed off the bed. Turning away from Caius, he disrobed, folding the garments in a neat pile. In the lamplight, he noticed the fine lines of scars on his own arms and half-smiled to himself. Was that the feeling of eyes on his back, or was that just his imagination? Well, let Caius wait.

Turning, Tullus returned to the bed and threw himself into a more casual straddle, balanced on the man’s upper hips. With a light finger, he traced the path of a long, pink scar running from Caius’ collarbone over his right breast. At the end of it, he jumped to an older, faded white line making a shallow slash across his ribs. From there, his fingers brushed over several smaller wounds in his side, the marks of short stabbing punctures.

“Another two inches to the left,” Tullus mused, letting the implication trail off as his finger moved on to the mark of another blade. “The gods were with you this day.”

Caius’ eyelids flickered. “The one who gave me that scar was a bear in man’s clothing.”

“He must have been angry, indeed. What was his quarrel with your Rome, huh? Did you burn his people’s homes and steal their crops, as you did mine? Did you rape his wife and enslave his children?” Tullus viciously dug his finger into the scar on Caius’ side, which was still pink with new skin.

“Yes.” The man showed no response to the pain, if indeed he felt any.

“Who was he, I wonder?” Tullus growled. “Aequian? Auruncian? You have so many enemies, you Romans.”

Caius opened his eyes and met Tullus’ heated gaze. “Volscian. He promised me that, be I Hector himself, I’d not escape his wrath that day.”

“Yet here you be.”

“And here be you.”

Tullus smiled grimly and leaned forward to kiss Caius once more, using the motion to reach up and retrieve the knife from where he’d left it, beyond the other man’s bound hands. He let their hips grind a little with the movement, breaking the kiss and making a shallow slice with the knife across the man’s chest, enjoying the sharp inhale this pain elicited. 

“Let me give you another mark then,” he said, pulling away and splaying his palm on Caius’ breast. “You remember Hector’s fate.” He made another cut with the knife, a slow downward motion paralleling the pink scar from their last meeting.

Caius tensed and arched slightly as blood spilled from the wound, running in long dark tracks over his chest and down his ribs, staining the sheets beneath them.

“Even heroes bleed and die,” Tullus drawled, smearing his palm across the cut and pulling bloody trails down the man’s chest. His mouth crooked sideways in a demonic half-smile and he leaned forward until their faces were inches apart. “Especially heroes,” he said, closing the gap with another kiss.

This time he made no pretense of grinding their hips, and when he broke the kiss they were both breathing heavily. Eyes glinting in the lamplight, Tullus slid downwards and, without warning or preamble, took Caius’ half-erect cock into his mouth. The man gasped and twitched, and Tullus took him deeper, working with his tongue until he was fully hard. He gave a few good, hot pulls, holding the shaft with one hand, and Caius made a low moan.

Abruptly, Tullus pulled away, and in the same movement carved a short bloody curve on the man’s hip with the knife. Caius’ head snapped up as far as possible between his bound arms and he gave a sharp shout of pain. Tullus locked eyes with him for a moment and then deliberately looked back down, inscribing a slow circle next to his previous mark. Caius gasped and bucked, but Tullus’ body pinned his legs too well.

“How many people did you kill that day?” Tullus asked, pausing. “How much blood ran down your sword? Did you forget those Volscian lives, even while you signed further orders in their name? Coriolanus?” Excruciatingly slowly, Tullus carved the stem of an R, inscribing the arc and tail with careful attention. Blood flowed freely, covering Caius’ hip and thigh with hot, sticky scarlet.

“Corioli was their city,” Tullus growled. “You took it from them as you took their name, with death. Neither belongs to you or to Rome.”

Bending his head, Tullus took the man’s cock again, rougher this time. He worked it for a minute before returning to his knife and cutting a short vertical line. The reaction was beautiful.

“Names can be cast off or taken,” he said, drawing another crimson circle as Caius drew short gasps, arching his whole body while Tullus forced him still to carve an L. “But this one is yours, now. And you will never forget it.” Face locked in a fierce grimace, with a streak of blood where he’d drawn a hand across one cheek, Tullus finished the word with a final line and looked down to admire his work.

“Corioli,” he said, soaking both hands in the word. Caius lay back, limp and panting, sweat shimmering on his temples. There was a wildness in his eyes that Tullus had often seen in battle, though this time it was more feral. “Blood for blood, Coriolanus,” he said, placing his dripping palms on the man’s chest, and leaving long red prints behind. “Blood for blood.”

Tullus brushed a white scar on his own ribs, making a long red streak. “You also marked me that day,” he said. Grasping the knife with slippery fingers, he traced his old wound, replacing it with a new one. Dark blood ran down his torso, and he leaned forward above the other man so that it dripped warm drops onto his stomach, smeared by his hand between them. “I am glad you came here. Our purposes, as our blood, now run as one. We will retake Corioli. You will help me.” Tullus cradled Caius’ cheek in one sticky hand and pulled their faces close. “Together we will undo that day’s nightmare work.”

Caius stared up at him with wide eyes as though unsure whether he was a savior or hangman. Tullus wasn’t sure himself. 

Reaching out for one of the lamps, he poured a handful of olive oil into his palm and rubbed it between his hands, the oil and blood combining in a slick sheen that flickered in the light. He coated his cock with it and pushed Caius’ legs apart with his knees. The man obliged limply. Lifting Caius’ thighs, Tullus leaned forward and penetrated in one long, slow motion, pushing deeper with a low growl until he could go no further. He was neither rough nor gentle, but a deliberate, inexorable force.

Caius threw his chin back and drew a sharp, keening gasp somewhere between a moan and a shout. Tullus paused for a minute while Caius caught his breath, moving forward until their torsos were aligned. They locked eyes, and this time there was no question whose glinted with a more demonic light. 

“When we have given Corioli back to her people,” Tullus said, voice low and lips just a few inches away from Caius’, hips beginning to thrust in an easy, languid rhythm. “When Volscian lives and Volscian blood have triumphed over our oppressors’ and we send your armies fleeing Romeward in fear for their homes and their families,” he trailed off.

Caius whined and struggled weakly at the bonds on his wrists, while Tullus pinned and held him in a great bear hug, the movement of their bodies a mess of blood against each other. It was impossible to tell his groans from pain or pleasure, though certainly Tullus was not too careful in avoiding the letters he’d carved on the man’s hip. This was about more than agony or ecstasy.

“Then,” Tullus purred, punctuating with a sharper thrust, “then we will burn Rome. We will hound your Roman armies homeward like their own shadows, and we will melt out of the darkness around your Roman walls and wait, until every man, woman, and child knows we are there. They will know the fear of men outside _their_ gates, and the terror of torches burning _their_ fields. They will look down and see our faces staring back at them, Tullus Aufidius and Caius Martius Coriolanus.”

Tullus no longer knew what the twisted expression on Caius’ face might mean, let alone what fearsome mask his own features wore. With each sentence, the speed of his thrusts increased, grinding their bodies together and everything between them. They were both in motion, two wild things fucking in the lamplight, and their cries were the howls of animals.

Breathing a long sigh of relief, Tullus collapsed his great frame, while Caius let his head fall back between his arms, tears leaking clean tracks down the smear on his face. Slowly, jerkily, Tullus peeled himself apart from the other man, away from the blood and oil and cum between them. The knots in the cord had tightened from struggle, so he cut Caius’ hands free with the knife, tossing the ends to the floor.

Caius winced, lowering his arms and rubbing his wrists where the cord had bit them. Tullus swung his legs over the bed, pausing for a minute.

“We will fight together, Caius,” he said. “We may even die together. But I will do it because I hate Rome, and you will always be a Roman.”

Throwing his tunic back on, Tullus collected his clothing and stopped at the door. “I will send someone with bandages to show you to a clean bed. For now, good night.”

Then he was gone, and Caius Martius was left in silence to realize that he hadn’t said anything for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Either Aufidius is one twisted, kinky fucker, or I am. Either way, this wrote itself.
> 
> Note: Apparently, olive oil was actually one of the best and most available lubricants for the ancient Romans (and conveniently also one of most abundant lamp oils), so now you know.


End file.
